Where is that open window?

Weeks have ticked by with people wondering, questions whispering, assumptions and conclusions drawn and redrawn about why the sweet, dark, smiling face has disappeared from the candid snapshots of our life.  It has taken time to even know what to say.  It has taken sifting and processing to try to grasp what should be said when it seems there are too many souls eager to gobble up the information to be regurgitated as neighborhood gossip.

The truth is, there are things I want to say, fingers I want to point, and agony I would like to unload… but none of that will change what has happened, and none of that will right what has gone wrong in this world.

All that I really need to say is that she is gone.  The bright eyes and hopeful smile of the daughter we thought was to be our own have dissolved through an unsettling mist of heartache and confusion. 

Every time I come across things of Akemi’s that remain– a picture she drew for me, a letter she wrote, another stretched out sock without a match, I find a flurry of unanswered questions seeping from where I have tried to cover my scars.   I would sure like to know God’s purpose in all of this.  Of letting Akemi open herself up to us, and ourselves to her, just to allow it to end in yet another heartbreak for a little girl who has already been through too much.  What part does this have in the big scheme of what we are doing and who we are becoming?  Actually, I would like to pound on the doors of Heaven and scream and yell until these answers are explained to me, because I don’t like being patient, especially when it hurts.

My girls have written her letters. Excitedly telling about plans they have made, reminders of secrets they have shared, and news of the baby brother she was so excited to meet.  Letters I have tucked away from sight because I don’t know how to explain to them that they won’t get to her.  I don’t know how to explain anything, because the continued twists and turns have been so breathtaking, so discouraging, and so utterly confusing, sometimes I can only throw up my hands. 

She was loved.  She was cherished.  She is missed.

Please leave me a comment; it lets me know you’re listening!

6 thoughts on “Where is that open window?”

  1. Dearest Hannah,

    Though I know no details about Akemi other than one FB post she was due to be adopted the following day, I fixed up the children's frame, Colby was born and I hurriedly re-did his ultra-sound picture to a birth picture and sent out the Christmas package. I then noticed there were no pictures of Akemi at the hospital or anywhere on FB at all anymore. Whatever the circumstances, I know you, Mark and the kids have been through more than your fair share of anxious worrying, heartache, and pain. I fervently pray that from this point forward you all can find some measure of healing and experience a future full of joy and happiness with your beautiful family. Akemi's well-being will be in my prayers as well. Love and Hugs from the “Other” Mitchell's.


  2. Love you guys. I know the trials and all loving children can bring. Ugg. I don't have answers and I hope we can bang on God's door together! 🙂 Thank goodness you guys have your faith and know that everything is for God's glory.


  3. Dear Hannah, prayers for you and family. It just doesn't seem right that you can't know how she is. This is TRUST IN THE LORD in the strongest sense. She is precious; will keep her in my prayers when I am saying them for you. You can email me anytime. Love and hugs.


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